


Last Bastion

by Rosage



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-typical references to death, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route, Gen, Platonic Relationships, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 08:20:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27660083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosage/pseuds/Rosage
Summary: As the war escalates, Ferdinand and Petra have a sleepover in the library.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir & Petra Macneary
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	Last Bastion

Evening has begun when Ferdinand and Petra gather books on governance from the library shelves. A friendly competition over who can take the most notes, at his proposal. _It is the value of the learning that matters_ , Petra insisted, but as he pointed out, they will not always have this library. After the war, work will take them elsewhere: him to a desk in Enbarr, her to a throne across the sea.

His next addition almost topples his stack. It teeters on the way to the tables, which he shoves together at first chance. For more space to spread out their notes, of course.

They salute each other with their quills as if preparing to spar. Her quill darts across the page, riveting him until his own reading trips from one topic to the next—a book on taxation mentions schools, and….

Petra taps his shoulder. His yelp makes him glad they are alone.

“You were not hearing me,” she says.

“Oh, I am sorry. What were you saying?”

“You have been yawning. You should go to sleep.”

Yawning? He bites his inner mouth. “It must simply be comfortable here.” He points at the page in front of him. “Did you know some nations have tax-funded schools? Without relying on entry fees from nobles, they—”

“You must be alert in war.”

Ordinarily, she would happily listen to him before sharing her own research. He squints at her. After hunching over the table for so long, she looks tense enough to head into battle herself.

“Perhaps we should both call it a night,” he says. She shakes her head, tossing a loose braid over her shoulder.

“I am not wanting to leave this library.”

“At all? It will not be safe to head into battle without rest.”

“It will also not be safe to return to my room. I am hearing rumors that members of the church will sneak in for a revenge.”

Ah. It has not been long since the church’s attempt to retake the monastery. Like a rat in a kitchen thought to be sealed off, it has had many standing on stools while others comb the walls for holes. If Hubert discovered how they got in, he has of course said nothing.

Though in this case, the kitchen used to belong to the rats, and—he organizes his notes before the metaphor can get away from him.

“I doubt anyone could catch you of all people off guard, but I will accompany you back, if you would like,” he says. She taps her quill, speckling ink beside her otherwise orderly notes.

“The walk is not the danger. My room is low to the ground, near secret passages. This room is higher, and it has no windows.”

He begins putting back books. Like the others, he simply reclaimed his old room. It felt covert to climb the stairs to the noble dorms without status, even though nobody was there to enforce academy rules.

“Is it not the same room you have had since our school days?” he asks.

“Yes.”

The answer hangs there as he tries to jam a book into the space where he surely found it. He gives up and lays it on top.

“I had no idea it made you feel unsafe. We must speak with Edelgard about this,” he says.

Still clutching her quill, Petra looks up from her notes. “We? What is this having to do with you?”

“Nothing, I suppose, but—”

“A room is a room. Should someone else live in the danger instead?”

“No, I did not mean…“ He bites his cheek again. It is too late at night for him to gnaw on his own foot. “Please, disregard me.”

“Okay. You are discarded.”

The thought of Dorothea missing that one makes Ferdinand laugh too humorlessly to correct it. Still, his chest constricts. Parts of the monastery are charred, sections the church deemed worth sacrificing to regain the rest. The flowers he and Edelgard placed on Ladislava’s grave have not yet wilted. Each time, he has the terrible, selfish thought that at least the Black Eagle Strike Force fights on. They must.

“Perhaps you should sleep with me,” he blurts.

“Pardon?”

“Forgive me, I did not mean anything untoward!” He gesticulates, searching for something to latch onto as if falling. He clearly cannot offer his room. “Only that, if you insist on staying here tonight, we can make it comfortable for sleeping. The two of us could take on any intruders, could we not?”

“We could. If enemies came, there would be only one exit for escaping. It would be better to stand our ground.”

“Exactly! And two swords are better than one.” He continues gesturing as if his calculations add up to something sensible.

With remarkable speed, Petra extracts pillows and blankets from Linhardt’s hiding spots. She hardly seems in need of sleep as she scouts for the best place to set up. Finally, she waves Ferdinand behind a pair of bookshelves, which they can peek between. He ensures the floor is clean before spreading out the bedding.

“I am reminding—reminded of being at the academy,” Petra says.

“How so?”

“Dorothea used to host sleepovers. Though I had no understanding of the name. All of us would talk and play games more than sleep.”

“I see.” He fluffs a pillow. Inquiring further seems like it would break something sacred. It is hard to picture, when he cannot recall the last time he did anything similar—or had anyone to do it with. Not since before the academy, certainly.

It nags at him while Petra sets up some kind of alarm system around the door. Oh, right. As a child, he stayed briefly at the palace while his father was strangely absent. So were Edelgard and the other royal children, and Ferdinand had wandered the halls, searching for someone to share his new games with.

There he found Petra, pensive and still so small, on her only visit before she was taken hostage. He invited her to join him. They did not need to share a language to wrestle, and it relieved him to disregard all of the proper conversation he still struggled to memorize. How exciting, he had thought, that she had to sneak away from her guards. How immaculately they built a pillow fort behind his bed, fortifying the walls every time he knocked one down.

How foolish to have thought it was a game.

When she returns to their makeshift blockhouse, he pecks her forehead. She blinks up at him.

“I should have asked if you do good night kisses. My mother used to give them to me,” he says.

Her laughter soothes his suddenly sore throat. “You are not my mother.”

She beckons him downward. He bends, somehow still surprised by lips upon his brow, a warm press both familiar and not.

For modesty’s sake, he extinguishes the candles before removing his vest and shoes. Shuffling sounds betray her presence as she settles under the blankets, even though she could do so silently. He lies down, too, his sword in reach.

“You know, I forgot to count the pages,” he whispers, like this is some great secret.

“What pages?”

“For our competition.”

“Our competition can continue another night. I am thinking this library makes a good base. We can gather more supplies in the morning,” she says.

“Absolutely! Supplies for what?”

“There is enough space for our whole family. Do you not think?”

His heart thumps in the stillness. Each creak seems to be a boot on a floorboard. But that cannot be, with her trap in place, and both of them nestled on this side of it.

“I think you are right,” he says, and closes his eyes.


End file.
